


Preventive Measures

by Mooncactus



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Alcohol, Assisted Suicide, Gen, Suicide, mentions of self harm, underage swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooncactus/pseuds/Mooncactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unnerved by his partner's strange behavior, Skulduggery investigates, ultimately discovering more than he wants to know about her plan to stop Darquesse for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preventive Measures

            “You’ve been acting peculiar all week,” Skulduggery says, parking the Bentley with an effortless grace.  It’s an illegal parking zone, but, well, he never really cared about fickle things like parking laws.

             And it’s three am.

             “I’d be a poor detective if I didn’t notice,” he continues. “And I’m anything but.” He steals a glance at her, trying to catch a reaction to the boast. A small smile or a subtle eye roll.

            But Valkyrie Cain’s face is just as blank as his own.

            He doesn’t worry, doesn’t let anything show in his voice. He’ll figure it out, he always does. “It’s not the prophesied destroyer of the world thing again, is it? Because I think we can handle that, by now.”

            She’s not looking at anything in particular, head tilted so her jaw line is obscured by her collar. Chin to her chest, she just stares at her knees. There were scraps of zombies stuck on them- souvenirs of their gory investigation that morning.

            “Or a vampire boyfriend?”  He quips.

            _Don’t talk about vampires_ , he expects.

            Nothing.

            She pulls her legs in, heels of her boots digging into the carpet. “Thanks for the ride,” Valkyrie mumbles, unlocking the door and getting out of the door.

            “Valkyrie,” Skulduggery starts, reaching for her.

            She slams the door, turns on her heel, and walks to steps of her mansion, hands in her pocket.

            He is patient; he gives her an hour before he calls.

            She never picks up.

\--

            The great thing about Gordon living with his partner is that he can act as a spy whenever his niece is acting out of character.

            “Has she been doing anything unusual lately?” Skulduggery asks, leaning against Gordon’s writing desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. He notices an undone hem on his left pant leg and his (imaginary, mind you) brow furrows.

            “Not really,” the late writer says. “Goes on the internet a lot, but I don’t think that’s weird for a girl her age.” He pauses in his editing, tablet screen going dark. “You’re not going to look on her computer, are you? Because she’ll know I told you and lock me in a safe or something.”

            “Nothing of the sort,” he says, straightening. “If she’ll type her woes into Google, she’ll tell me soon enough.”

            “Confident about that, are you?”

            “Of course I am,” Skulduggery says, closing the door behind him carefully, leaving it slightly ajar. “I’m her best friend.”

\--

            “Don’t you have a university to attend?” Skulduggery tilted his head at the not-quite-Valkyrie staring at him in the center of Haggard.

            “Holiday,” the reflection says. He sees it mutter “idiot” under its breath and wonders where it learned those dreadful manners.

            “Ah, of course.” He hesitates, wondering if he should attempt small talk.

            Maybe he should just go outright and ask.

            If there was anyone who would know better than Gordon…

            As if it could sense his thoughts, the reflection abruptly fished its phone out of its pocket, quickly checking the screen.

            “Gotta go, sorry,” the reflection says in a rush, walking away from an increasingly mystified detective.

            It turns back, once.

            He swears the look on its face is almost one of _pity_.

\--

            The harried sanctuary doctor crosses her arms tightly, sleeves creasing at the elbows. Skulduggery is trying to be patient.

            “They were _stolen_ ,” she enunciates. “I’m sure of it.”

            “I’m not saying you misplaced them, Doctor…”

            “Song,” she says curtly.

            “But someone else in your hospital certainly could have. You’ve got an assistant named Clarabelle, yes?”

            She nodded.

            “Well, that explains it.”  He tilted his head to Valkyrie. “Tell her about when Clarabelle lost eight of her patients. Went missing for three days?”

            Valkyrie cracks the first smile he’s seen in weeks. “That wasn’t really her fault.”

            “Still, though.”

            Valkyrie turns to the doctor, whose pale face wears a combination of intrigue and worry. His partner starts twisting the end of her hair. “This was back when she worked for Nye…”

            Fifteen minutes later, they leave the medical bay, no real progress made. But he has the stolen goods mentally recorded: two small leaves, dark red and brown in color, the first causing a coma and the second instant death.

            Valkyrie fidgets the entire car ride, fingers tapping out a pattern on her armrest.

            But she smiled today.

            That was something.

\--

            He takes her to visit her family a day later.

            She cries for an hour afterwards, curled up in the back seat of the Bentley, unable to stop shaking. He joins her, hat left in her spot in the passenger’s seat.

            “Valkyrie, please,” he asks into her hair, arms around her, keeping her safe from a monster he doesn’t recognize. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

            She buries her face in his shirt, shaking her head a fraction from side to side. He runs a hand through her hair and rests his chin on the top of her head.

            “I can fix it,” he promises. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

            She shakes her head again, and this time he’s not sure what she’s answering to.

\--

            “Are you going home tonight?” Skulduggery asks, literally knee deep in paper work. 

            “What’s the point?” The brunette sighed. “I’ll be back here tomorrow morning anyways.”

            “True enough.”  He stands, papers fluttering around him in his wake. He holds out a hand to still them, air slowing their descent, allowing them to flutter down gently on the office’s floor.

            His steps are calculated, making his way out of the maze of paper stacks without disturbing them. His partner gives up before she even starts.

            “I’m stuck.” The eighteen year old scowls at him, cross-legged, cornered by said paperwork. He makes a show out of sighing, ribcage heaving, and then goes to rescue her- pulling her up by her arms so she has to grab him around the neck to avoid falling back into the paper abyss, putting a gloved hand on her back and an arm under her knees.

            “Was that necessary?” She mutters into his collar, as he teeters out of the office, stumbling under the added weight.

            “Do things really have to be?”

            “Yes. Yes, they do. That’s the _point.”_

He skips the stairs entirely, gliding down them and landing in his living room of living rooms.

            She pushes away from him with more force than needed, muttering and scowling to herself, to retrieve pajamas from the other room (a Christmas present, after he insisted she had to stop wrinkling her work clothes by sleeping in them) and brush her teeth.

            He sits in the chair and waits for her, for no good reason except that he wants to wish her goodnight.

            She sits on the sofa bed, pulling her hair back into a neat tail. Her sleeves are black and flannel, folded over twice at mid forearm.

            “Skulduggery?”

            “Yes?”

            “…I need to tell you something.”

            “I know.”

            “Tomorrow,” she said, more to herself than him.

            “Fine with me,” he says easily, pulling his legs up, settling into a meditating position. “Good night, Valkyrie.”

            “Good night, Skulduggery.”

\--

            He is making her coffee the next morning, trying not to burn it, when she rests against the kitchen door, arms crossed.

            “Was this your whole master plan behind getting me pajamas? So you could laugh at me while you look impeccable every morning?”

            He goes the cabinet, pulling out a mug with a mutt on it. Wiping it absent-mindedly with a hand towel, he says, “Now why would I do that?”

            “Because you have an insufferable ego.” Valkyrie yawns and holds out her hand. He places the mug in her pale fingers and leans against the counter.

            “That might be true,” he says, “But I have to do this for my own self defense. You look stunning in anything. I, however, can’t pull anything off except suits. My reputation would be ruined if you saw me in flannel or anything of the like.”

            She goes slightly red. “So it’s your attempt to get on an equal level of attractiveness?”

            “Exactly.” He tilts his skull back, crown of his fedora brushing the cabinets. He attempts casual: “What were you going to tell me?”

            Valkyrie sips her coffee, stalling.  After a long sip, she speaks up, talking quickly. “I need you to know I’ve already made up my mind. You can’t do anything at this point.” She lowers the cup from her lips. “And I’m sorry.”

            His hands tighten, digging his gloved fingers into his palm, but he doesn’t let any other signs of emotion show.

            “I told you about this,” she starts quietly. “When I was sixteen, after we wrecked Dublin. That was almost three years ago.” She pulls up her sleeve, showing off quite a bit of muscle- and swirling black lines, not yet colored in. They were red and puffy. “Finbar insisted on this last week. It’s not done, but it’s pretty obvious what it’s going to be.” She tugs her sleeve back down. “We’re running out of time. It’s going to happen within the next year, at the latest.”

            “We can handle it-”

            “No. No, we can’t. She destroyed a school last time, Skulduggery. With _children inside._ It took you hours to hunt me down, calm me - her - down. I’m done trying.”

            “We’re not giving up yet-”

            “I _am_. I’m going to die, Skulduggery. And I need you to help me.”

\--

            “No.”

            “I told you, I’ve already made up my mind!” She follows behind him as he storms through the house, resisting the urge to slam and destroy and break, anything to calm himself down.

            “I am not helping you _kill yourself,_ Valkyrie.” He can’t look at her.

            “Well, then I’ll find someone who will!” It’s such a childish statement he almost laughs.

            He finally turns around to look at her. Her hands are on her hips, and she stares at him with a fierce defiance.

            There are tears in her eyes, God help him.

            “I have to do it, okay?” Valkyrie adds softly. “It’s me or my parents. And the rest of the world. I could kill _you_. I know I could.”

            “You’re strong enough to stop yourself. I know you are.”

            “And what if I’m not, Skulduggery? What if I kill the world and all that’s left standing is you and me? Will you really stay by my side then? Protect me, keep me safe? Keep a _monster_ safe, because she used to be a little girl and your friend?”

            “Yes,” he answers quietly, without hesitation.

            She swallows. Tries to speak, but she can’t. “Ghastly said,” she says, and swallows again. “Ghastly said you’d kill me. When I first turned into her. If you could do that then, why not now?”

            “He was wrong.” Skulduggery sits in his arm chair, and she settles in her sofa bed, gathering up her clothes and not looking at him. “He underestimated my humanity. Or overestimated my strength.”

            “Then I’ll find someone else,” she repeats. “The reflection would do it. I need to figure out a way to keep it around after I… after I go, anyway.” She starts working on her shirt buttons, and he turned away.

            “Then why did you ask me?”

            “Maybe I wanted to spend my last moments with you,” Valkrie snaps, and he heard the shirt land on the floor.

            “Well maybe _I_ wanted you to live past _eighteen years_ ,” he snaps back, standing and turning to her.

            He remembers that she was changing too late: now he has to hold his gaze on her. He never looks away after starting a fight.

            She drops her hands from her bra strap and stares up at him, defiant again. He notices how pale she is, how the black lines snake down from her collarbone to mid forearm. Probably Finbar’s best work. He doesn’t like it.

            She doesn’t have any scars. It comes as a strange relief, that her arms are bare and clean.

            She doesn’t even care about her attire; maybe it’s because he’s seen her with less, maybe it’s because she’s angry enough to start shaking.

            “That’s too bad. What are you going to do to stop me? Lock me up so I don’t hurt myself? All you do is attract her attention. And then the slaughter begins.”

            “Why are you so against me protecting you?”

            “Because I don’t deserve to be protected.” She scoffs, and breaks the eye contact, tugging her black tunic over her head. “I’m a monster.”

            “So am I. That didn’t stop you from rescuing me, over and over.”

            She freezes. “That’s…”

            “No different.”

            There’s a long moment of silence, as if Valkyrie is trying to find a way to argue this. He doesn’t have confidence. She’s saved him more times than vice versa. She’ll understand.

            He looks away again. When she speaks up, a few minutes later, she’s dressed except for her shoes. Her voice is steady, calm.

            “You didn’t want to be rescued from The Faceless Ones.”

            He remembers that. He remembers feeling a strange sort of peace while being tortured. The same one he got whenever he solved a murder.

            Like justice was finally being served.

            Was that how she felt?

            “I need to die. I deserve to die,” she said calmly. “I know you don’t agree, I know you want to stop me. But you promised. You promised you would help me with this.” She slides on her boots, tapped them at the toes. Skulduggery watches silently as she goes to the door, unlocking it.

            “Warn me before you have the Sanctuary agents bring me to the asylum, alright?” She says sarcastically, resting against the frame.

            Then she’s gone.

            “ _You have to stop me.”_

_“I will.”_

\--

 

            They don’t speak for two days. It’s the longest gap since he found out about who China Sorrows was, what she did to him.

            It’s a lot harder to get into her windows at Gordon’s than it was in her childhood home. But he manages, of course.

            Valkyrie’s face is impassive as she catches him at her sill, like skeletons crouching on her roof were a mild annoyance.

            She pushes open the window enough force to push him off. He has to grab her arm to avoid toppling, and the glare she sends him makes him let go as soon as he can.

            “What are you doing here?”

            He wipes off the dust from his clothes before answering. “I had thought that if I avoided you, I’d buy some time. You’d wait to say goodbye. Or be unable to replace me as your… assistant.” He takes off some lint at the arm. “And then, believe it or not, I started to doubt myself. I was worried you were going to be gone one day and my petulance would have denied me a chance to stay with you in your last days.”

            He doesn’t add that he came here hoping for the slim chance she had changed her mind.

            She stares at the floor, voice cautious. “Does that mean.. you’re helping me?”

            “I am a logical man, Valkyrie, and you made a logical argument.” He lowers his voice. “And I did promise.”

            He is detached.

            Logical.

            Unemotional.

            Valkyrie slumps, like all the air’s been drained out of her. “Thank you,” she says quietly, and then says it again. She wraps her arms around herself and sits on the edge of her bed.

            He sits far from her, suddenly feeling like a stranger.

            “…Were you planning on waiting until Darquesse appeared again and having me…end it?”

            Damn him, but there’s hope in his voice. He could do that. That could be in months.

            And all he can feel as Vile is rage.

            She shakes her head. “I don’t trust myself. And she’s stronger than Vile now, besides.”

            “I nearly won a war,” he says, raising an imaginary eyebrow.

            “Stronger,” she insists.

            “Is not.”

            “Is _too_ ,” she says, smiling despite herself. “No, I was planning something… simpler.” She reaches over and opens a box on her dresser and takes out two curled leaves.

            “Ah,” Skulduggery says.

            “You knew, didn’t you?”

            “I didn’t want to consider it.” He takes his hat off. “But I’m sure part of me knew.”

            “Clarabelle stole them for me. She’s the only person who knows besides you.”

            “And you won’t be telling anyone else?”

            “No.”

            “Neither will I.” He promises, trying to catch her gaze. She looks away.

\--

            She hasn’t decided a date yet.

            But it’ll be soon, she promises.

\--

             The next day he kidnaps her (rather literally: she wears a blindfold) and takes her to the most expensive restaurant in Dublin.

            They wear their Requiem ball outfits and he wears his best face. She eats expensive food and drinks expensive wine. He makes a show of not eating, like the food being served was not refined enough for his appetite.

            They try to out class each other and make elaborate backstories for the diners around them. Most of Skulduggery’s prove to be right, to Valkyrie shock, and he tells her it comes from experience.

            They walk out of the restaurant laughing. He picks her up like he did three days previously and takes her on a stroll through Dublin’s skyline. She laughs, maybe a little drunk, and clutches his lapels.

             They don’t mention their other plans. Not once.

\--

             He helps plan a girl’s day with Tanith. She doesn’t know it’s the last, of course. But it’s the first since she returned home, remnant free, and she beams at Valkyrie as she climbs onto her bike, adjusting her helmet.

              Skulduggery watches, arms crossed.

              “Don’t get pouty because I’m spending time with someone else.” His partner teases, raising an eyebrow at him.

               “I didn’t think “a girl’s day” would involve motorcycle riding.”

               “Then you clearly don’t know Tanith and I.” She grinned, and then added, casually, in a quieter voice, “Besides. Who knows the next time I'll get to go for a joy ride?”

            “I’ll keep her safe,” Tanith promises, grinning.

             Skulduggery nods, left with nothing else to say. He watches until they’re just a tiny dot on the horizon.

\--

            Trying to find out a way to keep a reflection alive while its original… isn’t is nearly impossible, especially without access to China’s library. Reflections are supposed to be used rarely - the idea of them serving after death was considered laughable by the magic world.

            But they find a symbol, one that will free the reflection from its binds and sever it from Valkyrie for good.

            “This is a really bad time,” she mutters to him, working on one part of the intricate symbol while he does another, “to find out it’s secretly evil.”

             The reflection steps out when they’re done, looking exactly the same.

             “You’re free,” Skulduggery says dryly. “Hold a party, if you’d like.”

             It ignores him and stares at Valkyrie. “You’re really doing it?”

             “Yeah.” Valkyrie answers, voice husky.

            “It’s for the best,” it says. “I’ll keep them safe. All of them.”

            Her eyes are solemn. “Promise?”

            “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

           “You can do that now, you know,” Skulduggery says, watching the dark haired girls turn like they forgot he was there. “You can’t go back into your mirror. You’re not entirely human, no, but you’re not a reflection anymore. Not exactly.”

          “Thank you,” it says, turning to look at both of them. “I won’t let you down.”

         “I won’t know, either way,” Valkyrie says, voice cold.

 

\--

            “Have you considered,” he asks one night, from behind the wheel of the Bentley, “An echo stone?”

            “You never got to see Gordon’s constant identity crises when I first discovered them. I don’t want any version of me to go through that.”

            “It’s supposed to help friends and family cope, you know. Gordon’s overuse is unusual.”

            “Well, I’m not sure if I could trust myself to stick to that.” She glances at him. “Or others.”

\--

            He is called in by Erskine and Ghastly one morning, a few hours before Valkyrie normally wakes up.

            He helps them with a case and answers questions and manages to convince him she’s not in his every thought.

            They’ve known him for four hundred years and have no idea there is something wrong. He is proud, proud that he can mask himself like this.

            Skulduggery only hopes he can manage the same when it’s time.

            And then he receives a text. “This afternoon” are the words, blunt and to the point.

            He startles, the phone slipping from his gloved figures and clattering to the table. His friends look up at the commotion.

            “Anything wrong?” Erskine asks.

            “Something’s come up,” Skulduggery answers, pocketing the phone. “Urgent. I’ll be back later.”

            “Alright,” Erskine nods. “Bring Valkyrie along, will you? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

            “Of course,” he says, tilting the brim of his hat. He forces himself to walk out of the building, slowly. Calmly.

            His hands have been shaking since he picked up the phone and they won’t God damn _stop_.

\--

            Skulduggery finds her in the study where they met, knees together on the sofa. She’s brushed her hair, put on a little make up.

            Her fingers uncurl, revealing the leaves, intact and perfect in an unnatural sort of way, immune to time and aging.

            “The red one,” she says, staring at them with a quiet awe, “puts me to sleep. It’s mostly because it’ll stop Darquesse from doing anything, but the inability to feel pain is an added bonus. The brown one, you’ll have to put on my tongue. It’ll dissolve.” Her tone is brisk and informative.

            “Alright,” he says. He sits down next to her. “That’s it?”

            “That’s it.”

            “And what do I do after?”

            “Make sure you don’t get caught,” she scoffs, scooting closer to him. “You’re not getting arrested because of me. Gordon or someone can find me. You don’t know why this happened and you won’t be involved.”

            “Alright.”

            “And keep yourself safe, alright? Don’t do something stupid like try to take on a gang. I won’t be there to protect you anymore.”

            “Alright.”

            “And please,” she says. “Don’t do something you’ll regret. It’s not worth it. Not for me.”

            “Alright.”

            “Is that all you’re going to say?” She turns her head at him, smiling slightly. “I’m going to be annoyed if the last thing you say to me is ‘alright’.” She raises a hand to his jaw line, cupping his head in her hands.

            “I’m trying to convince myself that it’s going to be alright. I think repetition works quite well, honestly.” He looks at her, really looks at her. Her eyelashes clump together with her mascara and her lips are painted a darker pink than usual, but otherwise, it’s the same face he’s seen for six years.

            He swallows with a throat he doesn’t have and reminds himself it’s alright. He’s alright. He will be fine.

            He’s done worse.

            He can do this.

            ”If alright won’t do,” Skulduggery says, staring at her pursed mouth, “What were you thinking instead?”

            “I… I don’t know. _You’re quite a remarkable girl_ was pretty good. Try to top that.”

            “You are the most outstanding person I have ever met, Valkyrie Cain. And that includes myself.”

            She sucks in a sharp breath, tears gathering at her eyes. “God, I’ve got a few minutes to go. No need to rush things. Now you’re going to run out of things to say.”

           “Nonsense. My years with you have been the best of my life.”

           “Go on?” She smiles.

           “Losing you,” he says, and his voice cracks. “Losing you will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

           “Right,” she says, and the smile is gone. “Right, that’s enough.”

           “Valkyrie,” he says, and he grabs her hand.

           “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk.”

           “Valkyrie Cain,” he says. “I am trying to tell you something very important, and you’re going to have to look at me as I say it.”

           Her eyes find his. Her voice is quiet, just a whisper. “Kay.” She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand and her make up doesn’t smudge.

           “I should have said this a long time ago. I’m sorry about that.” He takes a deep breath and readies himself, searching for words he had long since abandoned. “I love you.”

           Her lip trembles. “I know _that_.”

            “I should have said it anyway.”

            “I know that too.” She looks down.

            “And,” he says, dropping his gaze as well, staring at their interlocked hands. She’s even wearing nail polish. His voice dies and he’s not sure what else he has left to say.

            The silence passes, and all he can think is that they’re running out of time.

            He doesn’t believe this is happening.

            “You were supposed to be my partner until the end of my days,” he says softly. “I was going to die protecting you. That was the plan.”

            “I’m sorry,” Valkyrie says, face against his chest and mouth against his shirt buttons.

            “You always did foil those, though.” He runs his hand through her dark hair and feels her shudder.

            “Will you miss me?” She says, voice muffled.

            “That, that right there, is an incredibly obvious question. I expected more from you, Detective Cain.”

            She laughs into his chest. “That’s not an answer.”

            “You know it already,” he says, pressing his face into her hair. “No need to waste words.”

            “Okay.”

            He doesn’t know how long they sit like that. He started to lose his sense of time ever since that morning in his - their - kitchen. They talk about the past and their daring rescues and missions, boring and exciting.

            He must admit that the word ‘love’ gets passed around more times than either party has said in the last six years, let alone to each other.

            Finally, she raises her head, grabbing fist fulls of his shirt. “Now?” she says, turning it into a question.

            “Now.” He repeats, a note of finality in his voice.

\--

            She picks up the red leaf with trembling fingers and stares at it, as if trying to uncover its secrets.

            “You won’t feel a thing,” he says softly, patting her back.

            “Okay,” she says, and then, “Okay.” She looks out at the room. “Do you remember what you first said to me in this room? All those years ago?”

            He frowns. “At least he died doing what he loved,” he recites.

            “It’s not eating ice cream,” she says quietly, “or making fun of Fletcher, or beating up Scapegrace. But dying talking to you isn’t so bad.”

            He leans forward and puts his chin on her forehead, hand at the small of her back.

            When he shifts to look at her again, her eyes are closed and she’s slumped in his arms.

\--

            He holds her for God know’s how long, cursing Him, cursing her, cursing himself, wishing it was him, all sorts of nonsensical things.

            He is only able to prod her mouth open when he think of what she told him, what Gordon or Ghastly or Eskine or Tanith would think. What they would think if he was found with his partner, lying with her head tilted all the way back, in his arms.

            The leaf dissolves as she said it would, and she takes her last breath, calm and steady.

            He places her on the sofa and carefully arranges her hair around her face, tracing her bone structure and the outline of her mouth.

            Skulduggery Pleasant leaves the room with his hands in his pocket, as if nothing was wrong. He takes in nothing. He is unaffected, untethered.

            His bones are strong and his hat is tilted at the perfect angle on his head, and he can’t feel a thing.

\--

            He expects that the news will arrive for rest of the world an hour later. Skulduggery reported back to Ghastly and Erskine, telling them that Valkyrie hadn’t answered her phone and couldn’t be found.

            He mentions that Gordon’s mansion had been locked, every window, every door.

            “Don’t worry,” Erskine says. “She’ll be fine.”

            “And if she isn’t,” Ghastly says. “There’s not anyone in the world who can take her away from you for too long.”

            “Like magnets, you two are,” Erskine jokes.

            Tanith arrives with a lunch for the Elders and a kiss for Ghastly, and dread settles in Skulduggery’s bones as he realizes he will have to see all three of his friends faces as they learn the news.

            Feeling nothing.

            Taking nothing in.

            Nothing at all.

\--

            Erskine picks up his phone with a sandwich in the other hand, swallowing to avoid spitting food all over his guests. “Yes, this is Elder Ravel. Yeah, I have Skulduggery Pleasant with me. …I know you don’t like him, Cure, but I don’t see why you…” His voice went quiet. “Oh, God.”

            Skulduggery watches as his chin fell to his chest, food forgotten. “Oh, God. Are you sure? You’re… it’s really her?” He took a deep breath. “He’s here. Ghastly and Tanith are too. I’ll tell them. Thank you.”

            Tanith’s eyes are wide and fearful. She taps at the edge of the table, eyes trained on the Grand Mage as he hangs up.

            “That was,” he says, voice weak. He swallows. “That was Cure. He got a call from a panicked Gordon Edgley.”

            “Gordon?” Ghastly echoes.

            Skulduggery says nothing.

            “He found his niece… he found Valkyrie in his study.”

            He can see Ghastly and Tanith bracing for the worst.

            They’re looking at him.

            “She’s dead.” says Erskine finally, hands in tight fists.

           Skulduggery surprises himself with letting out a hiss through his teeth. It’s the first time he’s heard it.

           It’s the first time he’s even let himself _think_ it.

          “Who did it?” Tanith said, voice tight. “ _Who did it_?”

          “She did.” Erskine says. “She … it was the leaves. We don’t know if someone made her, if she was threatened, or if anyone tried to stop her…”

           With those words, Skulduggery rises from the table.

           He walks out of the room, away from the long table and cold grey walls.

           He hears Tanith start to cry, something that doesn’t fit her voice.

          But it’s nothing.

          Taking nothing.

          Feeling nothing.

\--

            The funeral is a few weeks later. Skulduggery attends, because he has to. He wears the tuxedo he wore for the ball, and their night on the town. He’s pleased to see the amount of people there, in that he was glad people recognized who she was, what she _did_.

            But then he spots a head of spiked hair for the first time in years and suddenly wants them all gone.

            He wonders who would still be there if they knew what she almost did. Who she almost was.

            Many go up and speak about her. Friends and enemies and people she rescued, even a short, timid middle-aged man who looks far healthier than when he last saw him. They talk about how brave she was, how strong and beautiful and remarkable for her age.

            The only one that sticks out to him is Fletcher’s. Not because it’s good. Awful, to be quite honest.

            “She was impulsive and selfish and rash and I hated how she treated me half the time, but I loved her. I think everyone did, in their own stupid way. She’s the type of person you were drawn to. You could never look away. And she liked that, yeah, but she helped people. She always tried to help people.” He swallows. “And I just wish we could have helped her.”

            He steps out, out of things to say, and finds Skulduggery’s face in the crowd.

            He nods, once, as if inviting him to the stage.

            Skulduggery takes his place and speaks. He doesn’t really hear the words he’s saying. He doesn’t think it matters. They all know what she was to him.

            They all know that he would have killed anyone who hurt her.

            What they don’t know is how he’s going to cope with this, his partner and best friend taken away by her own self.

            He doesn’t either.

            There’s something under the nothing, the vast _nothing_ that curls up in his chest whenever her face comes to mind. He doesn’t know what that is.

            He doesn’t want to.

\--

            Skulduggery doesn’t look at the casket. He simply steps away from the line, standing like the grim reaper in the center of the procession.

            Ghastly comes up to him, eyes grim and Tanith mysteriously absent.

            “You can’t pretend you’re fine forever.” Ghastly says, standing beside him. They stare straight ahead. “You’re going to do something rash and stupid. Probably going to quit being a detective within the next year. I know you. And I know you won’t be able to handle the reminders.” He clears his throat. “But I’m here for you. And I’m so, so sorry.”

            He walks away and rejoins Tanith, who wears a knee length black dress. He takes her small hands in his callused ones, and they walk towards the casket together.

            Skulduggery checks his pocket watch, and is startled to see it’s stopped.

            It has been for several weeks, but the frozen face comes as a constant surprise.

            He puts it away and strolls away from the procession.

\--

            People look at him differently.

            Some pity him and some taunt, but they’re all waiting for him to _react_. Waiting for him to go off, to do something, to cave in from grief.

            He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

            But he keeps wearing nice suits and driving old cars and keeping his house impeccable.

            And if he hasn’t removed anything of her’s from his life, that’s none of their business.

            He picks up a mug and imagines throwing it to the ground, watching the pieces ricochet off his pointless kitchen floor.

            He puts it back with a trembling hand and calls Ghastly to see if there’s anything he needs to do.

            “You’ve been covering everything lately. We don’t really know what to do, now that the Sensitives say the threat of Darquesse has disappeared. Do you know anything about that?”

            The line is quiet.

            “Maybe it was thanks to her. My mother’s prediction included her fighting Darquesse, so it’s possible without her in the equation… or maybe she just knew that she could help us.”

            “Perhaps,” Skulduggery says.

            “She could have saved us all. I know it’s not much, but it’s something.”

\--

            She arrives at his doorstep wearing a raincoat and matching boots.

            Her hair is too long and the coat is far too _yellow_ , but the resemblance is otherwise striking.

            Valkyrie’s reflection shifts from foot to foot at his doorstep, rain pouring off her shoulders. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” She says. “But it’s kind of pouring and I’d rather you just slam the door in my face then have you stand around and stare. Sorry.”

            Skulduggery hesitates before side stepping out of her path, reaching out an arm towards the living room.

            She pulls off her hood and takes it in quietly, placing her book bag on the ground.

            He doesn’t say anything, despite the urge to remind her to wipe her feet. He can’t look away.

            Because she’s breathing and she’s real. She won’t disappear in a minute. She’s not Valkyrie, but she’s…

            She’s close.

            “We need to talk,” the reflection says. Her boots scrape against the mat and she unzips her jacket, shaking out her hair.

            “My job,” she says, “My assignment, the last one Valkyrie gave me, was to protect the people she cared about. That includes you.” She adds, as if it needed to be clarified. “I know you’re hurting and you miss her a lot. And you haven’t spoken since I came in, which is making me worry you’ve gone mute from grief.”

            “I have not.”

            “Okay, good. What I’m saying, what I’m trying to offer, is…” She pauses. “I’m as smart as she was and I know everything she did, and I’m a pretty good actor, if you… if you’d want that. I can come visit. Not often, mind you, as I have university and I need to baby sit Alice and make sure Dad doesn’t lose his head, but…”

            “You’re offering to help with cases?”

            “I can’t come with you. I don’t have magic and it’s alarmingly easy to kill me now, but… I can visit and discuss and research. That kind of stuff.”

            He stares at her, not saying a thing.

            “And I can understand if you’d rather be alone,” she adds quietly. “Completely. But the offer is up there.”  She reaches down, replacing her bag on her shoulder. “That’s all.”

            “Thank you,” he says in soft disbelief. “But I don’t know.”

            “That’s okay. You can tell me when you figure it out. Or not.” She shrugs, bag strap slipping off her shoulder. “But I thought I owed you. For taking me out of the mirror. And for killing me.”

            “That’s a strange thing to thank me for.”

            “It helped me start to think.” She smiled. “And I like thinking.” The reflection fixed her bag once more. “And for her. She loved you a lot, you know.”

            He doesn’t trust himself to say anything.

            “Thank you for everything, Mr. Pleasant.” Her arms open up like she’s preparing to hug him, but after a moment, drop back to her sides. She steps into the pouring rain, and he can hear her laugh as it washes over her, pounding against her hood and shoulders.

\--

            He shuts the door after a moment, and settles himself into his armchair. The reflection’s visit has brought a strange calm over him. Something about seeing her face, hearing her laugh…

            “You’re never going to stop bothering me, are you?” He asks out loud.

            He listens to the silence of his house for a moment, the buzz of an unused refrigerator.

            Folding his hands in front of him, he sinks back and meditates peacefully for the first time in eight months, listening to the rain.

 


End file.
